


Blue Days, Black Nights, Do-Wah Do-Lang

by scullyphile



Category: The X-Files
Genre: ELO, F/M, Music, Songs, The X-Files Revival, cellphone, hello
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyphile/pseuds/scullyphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little call and answer between our agents during their break-up. Technically during their reconciliation. Because they are getting back together. It was for the X-Files Writing Challenge Prompt: Hello. I used the song Telephone Line by ELO as my inspiration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Days, Black Nights, Do-Wah Do-Lang

Mulder was drinking. _Just a little bit,_ he told himself as he poured a glass of scotch. He was channel surfing and stumbled on a show about cryptids. It hadn’t hurt his chances of stopping there that the host had been a nice looking blond in a short skirt. _These are a few of my favorite things,_ he thought.

He wondered with a wry grin why he hadn’t been asked to be interviewed as an expert on this show. Had his reputation fallen so much that people no longer thought of him when they talked about Bigfoot? When Darla–that was her name, marked clearly on the bottom of the screen, and he noted the absence of any credentials underneath it–started talking about el chupacabra, however, he got wistful. 

He missed her more now that he’d seen her again than he did in the months when they didn’t speak. Their first day back at the FBI had been mostly getting used to how things had changed, and they had only spoken briefly in the hallway before she disappeared on an errand he was sure had been fabricated.

He’d wandered the hallways trying not to look like a lost old man separated from his tour group. He was unaware that most of the whispers from the women were positive comments on his suit and his appearance in general. He saw their lingering gazes without the context of their words, didn’t know that the young agents still knew who he was, that he wasn’t a ghost.

He was no longer worried about their relationship. Seeing her face for those brief few moments confirmed his feeling that being back in the x-files was just the catalyst he needed to stir up the old emotions, perhaps even some new ones.

Struck with the sudden urge to reach out, he looked at the clock. 12:37 a.m. He hit shuffle on iTunes, looking for a sign. He heard ringing from the speakers as “Telephone Line” by Electric Light Orchestra started. _What a sign, universe,_ he thought, _subtle._ It made him chuckle.

Then he flashed on the scene in Billy Madison with Steve Buscemi and wondered if Scully remembered watching it with him on cable. They weren’t much for comedies like that, but when he flipped to it and saw Buscemi, he had stopped flipping channels. After a what the hell moment, she had started laughing, hard. What were the chances she remembered?

It didn’t matter, really, whether she took it seriously or not. He tapped her name, and the phone started ringing. He started the song over and paused the track.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of–” the generic woman’s voice said, “–Dr. Dana Scully,” Scully’s voice interrupted. “Please leave a message,” the recording finished. Perfect. He hit play and held the phone near the speaker.

“Hello, how are you?“ the song asked for him. “Have you been all right through all those lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely nights? That’s what I’d say. I’d tell you everything, if you’d pick up that telephone. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hey, how’re you feeling? Are you still the same? Don’t you realize the things we did, we did, were all for real? Not a dream. I just can’t believe they’ve all faded out of view.”

He ended the call. Leaning back in his chair, he smiled to himself as he thought of her confused expression while she listened to the message. She would listen to it even though she hadn’t answered, just in case it was an emergency. If she was asleep, it wouldn’t be until morning. In his head she would dial voicemail as she brushed her teeth, her mind not fully awake.

He was surprised a few minutes later when his cell vibrated. Her name on the screen lit up his face as he held up the phone.

“Mulder,” he answered. There was a pause and the music started in the middle of the song.

“Oh, oh, telephone line. Give me some time. I’m living in twilight. Oh, oh, telephone line. Give me some time. I’m living in twiiiiiilight.” The music stopped abruptly, and the call ended.

Had that just happened? He checked the level of scotch in the bottle, wondering if he’d had more than he thought. He was flirting with Scully.

Only one ring this time before the voicemail picked up. He imagined her as the message played in his ear again, sitting on her couch with a glass of wine, staring at the screen in anticipation of his rebuttal. Yet she’d swiped the screen to ignore his call. Hmm.

Beep. Mulder hit play.

“Okay, so no one’s answering. Well, can’t you just let it ring a little longer, longer, longer? Oh, oh, I’ll just sit tight, in shadows of the night, let it ring forevermore.”

He fell asleep on the couch with his phone in his hand, waiting. She never called back. When he opened his eyes the next morning it took him several minutes to remember that he had somewhere he needed to be. He had a job again, a clock to punch, and he was running late.

She wasn’t there when he opened the door to the office, but there was a note, of sorts, on his desk. It was a printed picture of Steve Buscemi with actual lipstick smeared on his lips. He touched it and some came off on his fingers. Scrawled in her handwriting was a quote from Billy Madison which doubled as an invitation.

“Maybe we can get together some time and have some coffee or something.”


End file.
